


Help Wanted

by strawberryfinn



Category: One Direction (Band), X Factor RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn/pseuds/strawberryfinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whatever trouble Liam is in, it sounds <i>bad,</i> and Louis doesn't really want to end up being like one of those men on <i>CSI</i> or <i>Law & Order</i> who tries to help out a poor, defenseless victim of domestic abuse and ends up bleeding out somewhere in a ditch because the psycho boyfriend/husband comes and kills the nice guy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Wanted

Louis can hear him before he even sees him. The voice is deep and low and makes Louis's stomach curl (in a good way), wrapping him in a blanket of comfort and warmth. Louis thinks of drinking hot tea while lounging in bed on a cold morning, thinks of a brick of dark chocolate melting sweet and slow on his tongue. He likes the voice automatically, even if owner of said voice is sighing and sounds a bit upset.

“I don't know what I'm going to do about him,” the man is saying. “He just gets so upset about the littlest things. Yesterday he broke a plate, which was like, the first time. I don't know, Zayn, I'm scared to leave him.”

Louis creeps his eyes up from behind the counter. He's supposed to be expediting the orders, but it's a slow day at El Simon anyways—there's just a cutesy couple making googly eyes at each other, a prim and properly dressed group of businessmen, and the owner of the voice he can't quite make out yet. He's guessing the owner of the voice seated in the booth behind that ridiculously large potted plant Nathan thought was a good idea to put in the workplace—said it gave it an _avant garde_ feel, as _if_.

“You don't get it. Things are difficult... Zayn, you don't understand; it's not that simple. Niall, he just throws fits all the time.” The voice is pressing now, sounds a bit urgent. “I'm scared to leave him. I don't know how he'll react—he can cause so much trouble, you know? He like... becomes something else every time he's upset and he's awfully unpredictable.”

Louis's standing on his tippy-toes at this point, craning to hear. He feels a bit bad about it—hates eavesdroppers himself and doesn't want to color himself to be a hypocrite. Maybe he should just pretend he didn't hear anything. 

Whatever trouble this bloke is in, it sounds _bad,_ and he doesn't really want to end up being like one of those men on _CSI_ or _Law & Order_ who tries to help out a poor, defenseless victim of domestic abuse and ends up bleeding out somewhere in a ditch because the psycho boyfriend/husband comes and kills the nice guy. (The nice guy in this case would be Louis, of course. Or, well, he's nice _most_ of the time). 

The point is Louis is really nice, and he really likes this bloke('s voice) and he wants to help. He just really doesn't want to die.

Is that so horrible of him? Louis furrows his brow as he thinks about it. Because, like, there are worse things he could be. He could be the type of guy who doesn't open doors for nice, arthritic old ladies or who beats little kids up or who murders women or who vandalizes cars (it was _once_ okay, and his ex-boyfriend deserved it) or who spits in people's food (okay, he does do that, but only if they really _deserve_ it—it's a public service, really, they have it coming to them). But he's a good guy. He _is._

Crap, he is a terrible person. He's a horrible, mean-hearted person who's ready to walk away from this distressed sounding bloke with a beautiful voice who also coincidentally has an abusive boyfriend or husband. He's awful.

_Louis,_ Louis tells himself, prepping himself for a pep talk. _Your mum did not raise a coward. You are going to save this man (and if it means that he ends up falling for you because you've saved his life, then so be it. It's also okay if you end up living happily ever after with this gorgeous bloke, and live in a white-picket fence house with a motley of kids. You deserve it if you're going to risk your life for him)._

_How do you even know he's good-looking?_

_Christ, you need to get laid._

The thing is, before he can gather up the courage to go around to the table behind that hideous potted plant (damn Nathan, really), Louis hears a loud “ahem” behind him. He whirls around, getting off of his tippy-toes to stare right into the face of the devil— _Nathan_ —himself.

Nathan is a squirrely-looking teenager with ridiculously bushy eyebrows, a shit-eating smirk, and mousy hair. His eyes are too far apart and his shirt is always awkwardly half untucked and half tucked and his shoelaces are usually untied. Nathan's awkward and nerdy and Louis hates his guts. He also, coincidentally, is Louis's manager after he got promoted two weeks ago. 

“ _What,_ ” Nathan says, in that annoyingly testy way of his, “do you think you're doing?” He's one of those tools who taps his foot impatiently and checks his watch every thirty seconds, and Louis curses his boss for giving Nathan the promotion. (It also sucks that Nathan is two years younger than him. That sucks majorly).

“Nathan! Dear, sweet Nathan! It's been so long since I've seen you, I thought you'd gone and done something horrible like fall into a vat of acid,” cheers Louis over dramatically, feigning jubilance. He hopes the foul taste in his mouth when he says Nathan's name doesn't cross his face because that would be kind of embarrassing.

Nathan doesn't look amused. “Louis. Why are you still standing around? Your shift starts in...” he checks his watch, “two minutes!”

“Which means I'm not late yet,” Louis snips back, shifting his feet together. He realizes he's being a real pain in the ass, but Nathan's one too, so Louis considers them even.

Nathan snorts loudly. “You're fucking weird, you know that Tomlinson? Just standing over here in the corner by yourself. No wonder you never made manager.”

Louis tends to daydream a lot. He has one reoccurring dream where he rips off his work apron, shredding it into pieces like he's the Incredible Hulk, and then runs up to punch Nathan out stone cold. In his daydream, he then saunters proudly out of El Simon, much to the adoration of the customers around him, a dramatic, slow song by the Fray with the air of war heroes playing in the background. He then is spotted by a beautiful, dark-haired stranger with dark eyes and a beautiful body, and together they climb on bicycles and go riding off into the sunset. (Okay, so the last part of the daydream isn't as macho as the rest of the scenario, but hey. It's _his_ fantasy).

Since Nathan is in charge of the music that plays in the restaurant, however, more realistically, Louis would end up punching him out to a Taylor Swift song, for whom Nathan has a strange affinity. So this said fist-fight will not be happening, as far as Louis is concerned, in this, or any other lifetime—more because of the Taylor Swift song choice and less, of course, because of Louis's lack of upper body strength.

“Oh, woe is me,” Louis sighs, long and loud, hoping his sarcasm is pretty evident. “I'll never be _manager!_ Guess that means my life is headed in a downward spiral and my sweet mum will have to come bail me out of jail after I resort to heroin to battle my depression. But on another note, if I were promoted, I'd really have a reason to be stuck working at this hell-hole while I realize that it's much more to _your_ liking. Your personality fits it here, you see, dour and boring, and it's good because you'll be stuck here until you die as _manager._ ”

Nathan flushes, face sour. He looks absolutely pissed, and Louis is extremely happy about that. “Well at least I'm not twenty-one. At least I haven't been working here for two years without a single raise.”

He's got a point though Louis is loath to admit it. 

“At least I won't die a virgin,” Louis quips, and Nathan turns about as red as a newly painted firetruck.

“Tomlinson!” he squeaks. “That's _not_ true, thank you very much and-”

“Ah, ah, _ah,_ ” Louis tuts, straightening his clip-on tie. “I'd love to stay and chat but I think my shift's started, Nathan, darling. Sweet, pure, chaste Nathan. Would hate to be late in case it sets me further back in my goals of the managerial position, wouldn't you say?”

Nathan looks like he might explode; his mouth opens and closes and he splutters angrily. “My mom says that the right person will come along and I'll find her!”

“Too bad you're not gay,” Louis sasses back, “you do have a nice body, at least if anybody could get over your personality.”

Nathan goldfishes in horror, face tomato red, but Louis is already slinging his waiter's apron around his waist and sauntering out to take orders. He's got a pen tucked behind his ear and a notebook tucked into his pocket and a forced smile on his face, and he's ready to go.

Louis hates lunchtime eaters. Most of the customers are in a hurry, and have an air of haughtiness to them. He half expects for them to snap their fingers and beckon him over like he's a dog. They also tip a lot less than people who stop by at dinnertime, which is why Nathan usually sticks Louis with the lunchtime shift.

_____________________________________________

Louis plasters his most winning smile on his face as he walks to the first group of customers, but he can feel his heart sinking already. It's a group of prim, properly dressed businessmen, all in uncomfortable looking suits and tight ties. One of the men is so fat he's nearly bursting out of his button-up, and he has a mustache as thick as a blackboard eraser, and Louis would feel sorry for him if he weren't already scowling at Louis when he arrived.

“Well that took long enough,” the man sneers, and Louis feels his blood start to boil.

_Calm down, don't lose it, you need the money,_ he convinces himself. Which is what he's been saying to himself for the last three years he's worked at El Simon.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asks in the most polite voice he can muster.

“Get me a Coke. Make that a Diet Coke,” the fat businessman replies. His crony who has a nose sharp enough to cut cheese and is wearing an awful pin-striped shirt orders a coffee, and the last man, one with his hair slicked back with a face that reads _look at me, I'm so important_ orders an iced tea. Louis scrawls it all down their orders expertly in his notepad and makes a mental note to spit in their food. (You know how he hasn't gotten a raise in three years? That might be the reason why).

Louis proceeds to take the orders of an obnoxiously cute couple who keep ogling each other (well the man is basically only focused on his girlfriend's boobs) and wheedling, _I love you more,_ no _I love you more,_ sickeningly sweet to the point of nauseating, and a flustered pair of grandparents taking their devilish grandchildren out to lunch.

He's relieved to see the last customer looks normal enough—a lone man, probably around his own age, sitting and squinting at the menu. He's got dark hair cropped close to his head, bushy eyebrows, and crinkles around his eyes. He's wearing a button up with a loosened tie and a pair of nice dress slacks, and even from the awkward angle from which Louis is watching him, Louis can tell he's pretty fit.

Louis clears his throat. “Hi there. I'm your waiter, Louis.” He keeps his pen poised at his notebook, hoping this man doesn't turn out to be a corporate douchebag.

The customer looks up, a faint, tired smile on his face. “Hi Louis.”

And Louis recognizes the voice automatically. It's the voice Louis heard from behind the counter—warm and friendly—even if he sounded distressed before.

“What can I get you?” Louis asks brightly. 

“Um. To be quite honest, I'm. This is my first time here,” the man stumbles, and then flushes a bit, this shade of red that Louis can't help but think is cute. There's a wrinkle in the middle of his forehead that Louis wants to soothe out.

“Well, what are you in the mood for?” Louis asks, at the same time as the man continues, “What do you recommend?”

The customer laughs at that, flushing again to the tips of his ears (Louis never knew that cute and blushy did it for him, but it _does_ ), and Louis grins from ear to ear. “Well, I'm a huge fan of the chicken club sandwich. It's filling without excess grease or fattening dressing, and-” Louis glances appreciatively at the bloke's frame (holy shit those _biceps_ ), “it's healthy and hearty and good.”

The man laughs again, a rich, full sound. His eyes crinkle up into tiny crescent moons and his teeth are nice and straight and white. “Are you insinuating that I need to watch my health?”

“Not at all,” Louis backpedals, stomach filling with butterflies even as he tries to maintain his composure. “I just...”

“I'm kidding,” the man chuckles, and he folds his menu closed. “I'll take a bowl of the house soup and the chicken club sandwich, then, Louis. I trust you.”

The way he says _trust_ makes something curl up in Louis's stomach—in the cute kitten in a bundle way, not the nauseous-need-to-vomit way—and Louis scrawls down the man's order with a promise to be back. The customer gives him a wan, rather exhausted look, and Louis just wants to sit down and hug him until he stops looking so tired and sad, but instead he salutes (which makes the man chuckle), and scurries off to put in the order.

As he brings out the other dishes, Louis can't stop thinking about the mysterious, tired customer. (In fact, he's so distracted that he doesn't even spit in any of the food like he planned). Well, rather the man's phone call. His terror as he talked to Zack? _Zayn?_ —about his psycho boyfriend— _Niall_ —breaking plates and being unpredictable and making things difficult. Because, _shit,_ this poor bloke is being abused—or at the very least mistreated, and Louis wants to help. He hasn't wanted to help someone this badly in a long time, because nobody— _nobody_ deserves to be treated badly, especially someone that nice.

Louis hasn't met someone he liked right off the bat in a long time. His best friend Harry tells him that Louis needs to chill out and give people chances more often, so he'd be proud of Louis for taking steps in the right direction. Harry also says that Louis tends to be closed off and aloof (which Louis resents, thank you very much), and loath as he is to admit it, it can be true.

He's imagining what it would be like to hold hands with the man and be all cutesy and exchange eskimo kisses across a coffee table when he comes back holding a tray with the newly made sandwich and soup. As he nears the table (goddam that stupid potted plant!) he hears a distressed voice again.

“No, Zayn, I told you—I don't know what to do about Niall. I know. I know I'll have to leave him eventually, but he gets so upset.”

Louis almost drops the tray.

The man's sitting with his forehead in the palm of his hand, rubbing at his skin in a tired way. His shoulders are hunched, and his eyes are squeezed shut as he talks into his phone.

Louis just stands there stupidly. The tray is heavy in his hands, and he can feel his arms trembling under the weight. More so though, the bowl of soup is ridiculously hot, and he thinks his hand might actually be _burning._

_Say something, you idiot,_ he yells at himself, because he's involved already. Well sort of. But what the hell is he supposed to say? And how can he be talking about this so loudly? In a public place?

“Um,” he stammers, and the man whips his eyes up at the interjection. He looks surprised.

“Sorry, Zayn, I've gotta go. My food is here. I'll call you later,” he says hurriedly, and ends the phone call with an apologetic, rueful grin. “Hi Louis—I hope you weren't waiting for very long.”

“Not at all,” Louis replies, thinking, _long enough,_ as he slips his customer's food in front of him. The man smiles at the food ( _score for Louis_ ), and picks up a spoon to dig in. Louis continues standing stupidly there, brain whirling wildly because he _has_ to do something.

“Is... everything okay? You sounded upset on the phone,” he says, realizing too late that it makes him out to be both a liar and a creepy eavesdropper. As his customer's eyes start to narrow, Louis blurts out, “Not like I was listening or anything. Um.” _Shit._

The customer looks skeptical, but thankfully not angry. “Everything, um. It's been a little rough... things at home lately,” he admits, and his shoulders sag which makes Louis sad. “But, um.” He swallows hard, and dips his spoon into his soup. “I'm okay. Thanks for... checking.”

Louis goldfishes, searching for an answer, when Nathan's nasally voice rings out across the restaurant. “ _Louis!_ ”

Louis's never been so relieved to hear Nathan in his life. He gives his customer an apologetic smile, and then ducks out, heart beating wildly in his chest, the man's confession tucked next to his heart like a secret. It's like the guy's searching to be helped. And _fuck,_ Louis has to help him. 

It turns out that the toilet's flooded, and of course Nathan's making Louis clean it. Louis mucks with the plunger, grimacing at the foul smell, and his eyes water as he thinks about the handsome stranger and his perfect body and beautiful smile.

Louis's already started planning his strategy on how to woo said stranger—if he'll play coy and shy, or be directly flirty, and where he'll take the man out on his first date when he suddenly remembers how he first “met” him. What happens if Louis starts to make his move and the said date's crazed abusive boyfriend comes in and beats the shit out of him and sends Louis to the emergency room with a cracked ribcage? Louis's not really sure he can afford the hospital expenses with his minimum wage job, even with the tips he receives. Plus this guy is pretty fit and muscular, so that must mean that his boyfriend is even more ripped which may be a bit much for Louis to take on. His psycho boyfriend, Louis reminds himself. His psycho crazy abusive boyfriend who Louis's said love interest doesn't have the guts to leave yet. His boyfriend must be as big as a skyscraper. And Louis will prove no threat whatsoever.

Wait. Louis's already thought through this before. He's not going to be a coward. Louis's going to ask the poor guy out, and if the man happens to mention that he's already taken—and that he's being abused—Louis will assert that nobody, _nobody_ deserves that type of treatment, and he'll get help. The handsome stranger will be so grateful he'll fall head-over-heels for Louis, and well... it'll be perfect.

But what is Louis supposed to say? He can't very well come up to the guy and say, “Hey, I heard you on the phone and I know you have an abusive boyfriend, and I want to help,” or even “I know something's up,” because it makes him sound stalkerish and nosy. Louis pores his brain wearily for some way to help as he cleans the toilet, and then finally settles on writing, “Call me if you ever need to talk to someone” and his phone number on the bill.

Harry says that Louis is a huge slacker (he says it lovingly but he does say it), but Louis's not going to slack on this one. Someone needs his help, and Louis will be damned if he lets him down.

He brings out the check to his customer after scooping up his empty plates—and does not blush appreciatively when the man thanks him for his perfect recommendation—and definitely does _not_ skulk behind the potted plant, half his head behind the leaves, spying warily as the bloke picks up the bill.

The man pulls out his wallet, and Louis's relieved to see that he's paying in cash because then he doesn't have to go out and face him with the credit card. 

The guy raises his eyebrows as his eyes scan the note, and Louis's heart staccatos in his ribcage. He doesn't know if the customer's expression is saying, _Who the hell does this freak think he is?_ or _I'm way out of his league,_ but either way he doesn't know whether or not he's gone out of bounds with this. The customer glances over to the counter, probably searching for him, and Louis ducks down frantically behind the plant, cheeks heating up. Louis doesn't know what it is about _this_ guy—Louis hardly knows anything about him—but for some reason, Louis _cares_ about what he thinks.

Unfortunately Louis has to cross by the handsome stranger to seat a new group of customers—they look like a group of the Real Housewives of London or something, and Louis is wondering if perhaps a lifetime of homelessness would be better than working at El Simon any longer. He skirts around the ladies, putting on his best simpering voice with puppy dog eyes as he hands out menus and wins his way into their good graces—they look like they might be good tippers. He's heading back to the counter to pick up another order when the man catches his eye and beckons to him.

“Hey, Louis?”

Louis's nerves lodge in his throat. “Yeah?”

The man ducks his head a bit shyly, and then looks up at him with his warm, brown eyes. They make Louis's insides melt like a newly baked chocolate chip cookie. “Do you like kids?”

Louis feels like an immense weight lift off of his shoulders at the guy's soft smile. The man's not disgusted or mad at Louis. Oh my God, Louis has totally got this in the bag. This bloke wants to have children with him and marry him and live the whole white-picket ideal life, and Louis? Well, Louis is totally down with that idea. 

“I love kids,” he replies.

The man's eyes scrunch up happily at that, face lighting up, and Louis wants to tug him close and hug him and make sure he looks like that always. Louis fights the urge to, dropping his fingers at his side and twitching instead, and the man stands up, handing him the bill, and walks off. Before he gets to the exit, however, he turns around and says, “I'll see you later. I'm... I'm Liam by the way.”

Louis's stomach does somersaults, and as soon as Liam leaves, he flips open the check and sees that Liam left him a thirty percent tip.

Liam totally wants him.

_____________________________________________

At least that's what he tries to remind himself as he paces frantically around the room.

“I don't know why you're so worried,” Harry says, standing up. Louis pointedly keeps his eyes above Harry's crotch, because _God,_ fucking Harry. “Louis, come on,” Harry continues, hands flying around like disoriented birds, voice a slow drawl. “From what it sounds like, this bloke totally has a boner for you-”

“ _Harold._ ” Louis certainly doesn't whine in exasperation. “Can you, for the love of God-”

Louis's phone takes that moment to ring.

Louis is embarrassed at how quickly he answers. “Hello?”

The voice on the other end sounds a bit taken aback and surprised. “Hi. Is this Louis?”

“Yes, this is he,” Louis says, trying to bring his voice to a more even, less excited tone. Because it's _Liam,_ and Liam actually called, and he's interested. “And this is? What are you trying to sell?” 

There's a pause at the other end, and then a soft “Oh.” Liam sounds disappointed, and Louis pictures him now, with his forehead crinkled up adorably and his lips turned down in a cute pouty way, and _God._ “This was a bad idea. Maybe I shouldn't have called.”

“No, no,” Louis protests automatically because this isn't what he wanted at all. “Liam—crap, it was a joke. You're supposed to think it's _funny._ ” Harry's green eyes perk up from underneath his nest of curly hair in interest, giving him a questioning thumbs up. Louis waves him off. “Liam, I know it's you, shit-”

“Gotcha,” Liam interrupts, and he sounds smug. “Waiting by the phone, were you?”

Louis's shoulders sag in relief, and then he perks up. Because... wait, Liam is _flirting._ Liam's _flirting_ with him. He can work with this. “Never in your wildest dreams.”

“Oh so you're suggesting that I've been dreaming about you now,” Liam banters. (Louis is done for). “Getting a little ahead of yourself here?”

“I'm not the one who's calling,” Louis counters as smoothly as he can. He laughs lightly, and likes how Liam laughs back in reply.

“Well, on that note,” Liam says, “I called with a purpose. I... um. Are you free? Tonight?”

“Tonight? You mean now?” Louis asks, flustered. He wants to tell Liam that he'll never be busy again if Liam needs him to be. For Liam, Louis is free. Always free.

“Yes, um,” Liam trails off, “I just. I had an opening, and I was able to get away from home for a bit, but it's kind of a tight space of time, so I understand if you can't—I know it's really last minute, but it's hard for me to get a break and-”

“I'm free,” Louis replies, interrupting him. He realizes too late that it makes him sound a little overeager and pathetic, but _shit_ , Liam sounds desperate, and he's probably only able to escape the grasp of his crazy abusive boyfriend for the time being, and Louis is _not_ going to let him down.

Liam sounds surprised but pleased. “You are? Really?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, wondering if his desperation is showing. He hasn't been laid in God knows how long, but it's not even that. He wants to talk to Liam, to get to know him better. There's something about him that is so inherently attractive—not only because he's physically fit and you know... gorgeous, but also because he's sweet and laughs at Louis's jokes and needs some saving. “What did you have in mind?”

They decide to meet at the British Museum in an hour. Liam's friend suggested a place and according to Liam, Zayn is like a walking-talking Yelp page, so it sounds good to Louis. (Well just being with Liam is good, but he won't say that out loud).

Louis then spends the next fifteen minutes throwing all of his clothes around the apartment trying to figure out what to wear on his date while Harry continues to lie in his bed naked. Harry vetoes Louis's blue button up (“Too posh, Lou—you don't want him to think you're pretentious,”), his jumper (“It's not winter yet, that's not acceptable), and his striped blue and white shirt (“Contrary to popular belief, Lou, you're not a sailor.”). In turn, Louis refuses Harry's offers to borrow his Ramones shirt (“too indie”), his plaid shirt (“I'm not a fucking hipster like you, okay?”), and his blue and white printed heart shirt (“This is not a pride parade, this is a date you moron.”)

In the end, he decides on a pair of black skinny jeans with the ankles rolled up, dark grey Vans (without any socks, _please,_ he's not going to pretend to be something that he's not), a grey t-shirt, with a denim jacket.

“Looking good, Lou,” Harry says, rolling around in his bed. Thankfully his pillow is cushioned over his groin, and because Louis is a combination of anxious and excited, he doesn't even have it in him to be snarky.

“You think it's alright?” Louis asks skeptically, eyeing himself in the mirror. 

Harry starts peeling a banana as he studies Louis.

Louis doesn't even want to know. (Fuck. He really needs some more friends).

Harry takes a impossibly large bite of the banana before mumbling, “You look good. Real sharp, Lou.” With his free hand he gives Louis a crooked thumbs up.

“Put on some fucking clothes, okay?”

Harry grins cheekily at him, cheeks stuffed full of fruit, and wiggles his ass (which is (un)fortunately visible again). Louis groans and heads towards the bathroom to put on some cologne.

_____________________________________________

When Louis spots Liam curled up on the steps of the British Museum he almost faints. Because holy shit on toast, Liam is gorgeous. Like Louis already knew he was gorgeous, but _shit_ he's gorgeous. Maybe it's the extra element of nighttime, but Liam's changed out of his business shirt and slipped into a white t-shirt with a dark jacket instead. His jawline is rugged and his cheekbones chiseled, and Louis thinks he might have an aneurysm.

Liam stands up when he spots Louis, and he's got his hands in his pockets, and Christ, he looks adorable. How can someone be so sexy and so endearing simultaneously? Louis is so confused. 

He doesn't get long to be confused though, because then Liam is walking towards him, hands still in the pockets of his trousers. 

“Hi,” Liam says hesitantly. He smiles at Louis, and Louis can't help smile back like a lovesick idiot because Liam's _happy_ to see him! “Thanks for meeting me on such a short notice. I really wanted to... um,” he stammers, and the tips of his ears turn a little red, “um meet with you and talk to you.”

God, he's so adorable. Louis totally wants to rescue him from his boyfriend and cuddle him up in a blanket and never have to talk or look at anyone again. 

“All the time in the world for you,” Louis replies in his most suave voice. He's trying to hide the fact that he's _insanely_ nervous, and when Liam blushes even more, Louis feels a little bit better. It looks like Liam's nearly as nervous as he is—just Louis is better at keeping himself together.

“So, um, my friend Zayn recommended this place. It's called Sugar Fish and it's supposed to be some sort of fusion restaurant,” Liam says. “It's like Asian fusion with Mexican food—and if you don't like either, we can go somewhere else, and oh,” he pauses, his forehead furrowing up with lines, “I should've asked you before on the phone. Um.”

“It sounds perfect,” Louis tells him, and he means it.

_____________________________________________

Sugar Fish is as described—a fully fusion restaurant. It's a fancy enough place—a bit pricey—but not unreasonable for first date status. The seats are squishy and comfortable, and Louis and Liam find themselves seated in a cozy booth towards the back of the restaurant. The menu is scattered with items like Kalbi Korean beef tacos and chicken teriyaki quesadillas and carne asada fried rice. Louis's stomach is growling at this point, and everything looks delicious. He about wants to order everything.

“Hungry?” Liam remarks, peeking over the top of his menu. 

Louis is about to reply when his stomach growls loudly in answer for him. “Starving,” he admits.

Liam smiles, and Louis's insides go all gooey. “Me too. Do you want to order a few things and we can share?” His eyes crinkle up and he's nibbling at his bottom lip as though he's afraid Louis will say no. _As if._

_Anything you want,_ Louis thinks, but instead he nods. “Sounds perfect.”

They decide on the chorizo potstickers, the Korean beef tacos, and the chicken teriyaki tostadas. Louis thinks the meal sounds like it could be an absolute trainwreck or the best meal he's ever eaten, but right now he's too hungry to even care.

The waitress (a peppy, tiny girl named Cher who eyes them gleefully and claps her hands the entire time) takes their menus and trails off to put their orders in, leaving them alone.

“So,” Louis says, folding his hands together and looking at Liam. “Tell me about yourself.”

Liam's fumbling with a napkin in his hands, nervously fidgeting, but he relaxes a bit when Louis offers him his most winning smile. “Um. Not much. I'm a veterinarian.” He looks a bit uneasy about his answer.

“A veterinarian? That's awesome!” Louis tells him. “You probably play with cats and dogs and puppies and cute animals all the time.” He imagines Liam, with his steady and strategic hands, comforting animals and calming down their owners as well, and can't deny how much he likes the image.

“Well I'm actually a wildlife veterinarian—so mostly I work with wild animals, or animals at the zoo and such,” Liam replies, sounding insanely modest. Louis is about 10,000 times more attracted to him ever before if that's even possible. “It's... I like it. It keeps things interesting. But that's enough about me... What about you? Have you been working at that cafe for a long time?”

Louis suddenly feels wildly inadequate. 

“Two years,” he mumbles, incoherently.

Liam looks at him. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I couldn't hear you.”

_That was the point,_ Louis thinks, but he gathers up his courage and mutters, “Two years.”

He feels the embarrassment bloom over him—Liam's a successful _wildlife veterinarian_ who probably saves endangered animals every day, and Louis is a waiter at a restaurant who hasn't even gotten a raise in the two years he's slaved at El Simon.

But when he looks up at Liam, Liam's not looking at him judgingly. He's not making an excuse to leave or eyeing him critically—he's just smiling. It settles Louis's nerves considerably.

“I'm trying to find another job,” Louis blurts, “I mean—this is just supposed to be a temporary job. I've just been... like struggling. I got out of a really shitty relationship and I've just been trying to get back on my feet, and I really like teaching. Kids.” 

Oh _God._ He just aired out all of his dirty laundry at Liam and made himself seem like a regular pathetic pity party who's good at _nothing,_ and oh _God._

“I think you'd be good at that.” Liam puts down his napkin and reaches across the table to put his hand on top of Louis's. It's not condescending or pandering, but comforting—nice. Genuine. “You seem like a motivated guy—a really good guy, Louis. I think you'll figure things out—I... I believe in you.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, and he means it.

Liam's phone goes off then, and Liam takes his hand off of Louis's to grab his cell. 

“Crap,” he mutters apologetically, “I have to take this.”

“No, of course,” Louis says. 

Liam looks worried as he answers his phone, and he steps up and walks away to take the call. Louis would be lying if he didn't admit to spying on Liam from his spot in the booth. He can't really hear what Liam's saying, but his expression is a mixture of exasperation, frustration, and agitation—none of which offers much optimism for the rest of their date. Liam's got his hand bracketed over his forehead as though he's trying to squeeze the tension out, and Louis's stomach churns.

He wonders if it's Niall—wonders if Liam's going to get into trouble for being out with him. Wonders what Niall would do if he knew Liam was essentially _cheating_ on him. Louis wonders if Niall's a huge bloke. Maybe with a neck like a tree trunk and ridiculous biceps and a mean, squished bulldog face. He shivers involuntarily.

Louis swivels quickly back around in his seat when he sees Liam hang up and start to approach the table, busying himself with organizing the soy sauce and the siracha bottles. He looks up to see that Liam's standing there, hands fumbling with his cell phone. He doesn't sit back down.

“What's wrong?” Louis asks, even though he's pretty sure he knows.

“I have to go,” Liam tells him, and he sounds apologetic and miserable, and Louis wants to fling himself across the table and hold onto Liam and never let him go. He wants to tell Liam that he doesn't have to go back to his abusive asshole of a boyfriend, and Louis will take care of him. “I'm really sorry, Louis—something came up. I have to leave.”

Liam turns to try to wave down their waitress, and Louis steels himself for this. Because he _can't_ —on good conscience and mainly because he really, really _likes_ Liam and thinks Liam deserves better—let Liam go back home. He can't let Liam be mistreated. He _needs_ to do something—he's spent the last two years of his life dicking around, and it's like he's been sent a sign to do something _good._

Liam's lips are in a straight, terse line now, and he flicks distractedly at his phone. “I'm sorry—do you think you could cancel the order because I really have to go-”

“Liam.” Louis's voice wavers a bit, but he's committed. “I get it.”

“You get what?” Liam replies, turning around. He looks tense.

“I _know,_ ” Louis whispers conspiratorially, trying to make his face into a readable it's okay message.

It doesn't seem to work. 

Liam just looks confused. His eyebrows arch upwards so far they almost meet in the middle of his forehead. “You know what?”

“It's okay, Liam,” Louis sighs, because of course Liam's going to deny it all. A good strong man like him—he can't admit that he's letting himself be abused, even though Louis wants to assure him that this isn't his fault at all. That Niall's obviously an asshole who doesn't understand how lucky he is, and Louis will either a) beat him up, or if Niall's a larger bloke, b) call the authorities. “I know about Niall.”

Liam's eyebrows jump so far upwards they're almost hidden by his hair. “You do?” His voice sounds flat, tentative. “And you're okay with this?” he gestures in to the space between them, “You're okay with all of this?”

“Um.” That's not what Louis was expecting, because no, he's not okay with Liam being abused, and Liam shouldn't be either. He's not okay with Niall—and as much as he likes Liam, he's not going to keep seeing him if he refuses to admit there's a problem. “No, I'm not really okay with it.”

“Oh.” Liam's shoulders sink in disappointment, and he pulls his cloth napkin out of his lap to put on the table. “I guess I should be going then.”

_Shit._ This is not how Louis envisioned the date going at all. He's supposed to _help_ Liam, not send him rushing off. _Shit, shit, shit._

“Liam wait-” Liam brushes Louis's hand off his shoulder, and _shit,_ Liam looks sad. His forehead is creased with lines of worry, his mouth is downturned, and _crap,_ are there near tears in his eyes?

“LIAM!” Louis yells, and half of the restaurant turns and looks at them, but Louis doesn't care. “Liam, it's okay, I want to help you! I know this is only our first date and I know I'm not really somebody you know to well but I want to help. I know, okay? I know your boyfriend or husband's been abusing you. I heard you tell your friend that want to leave him but he gets angry and he breaks plates. But you don't deserve it—even if you think it's right, it's _not_ and God _damn it_ let me _help_ you!”

“ _What?_ ” Liam asks, and Louis thinks quickly and pulls Liam down into the booth. He raises a middle finger at a couple whose staring at them, and they immediately look away—probably to gossip about him, but he doesn't care.

“Niall—your abusive boyfriend slash husband-”

“Louis. I don't _have_ a husband. I don't even have a boyfriend. I'm completely _single._ ”

“-you really deserve better and _what?_ ”

Louis comes to a halt, and stares wide-eyed at Liam. Because _what?_

Liam does the strangest thing. He starts to laugh. He starts laughing so hard that his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle up at the sides and his nose scrunches up, and Louis doesn't _get_ what's so funny because _really_ there's nothing funny about being abused.

Still laughing hysterically, Liam grabs his wallet out of his pocket and pulls out a small photograph and shoves it across the table to Louis. “ _This_ is Niall,” he manages to wheeze between laughs.

A small boy with messy, white-blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes and a mischievous smirk looks up at Louis. He can't be more than five or six.

Louis stares at the picture while Liam keeps laughing. 

“You're shitting me,” he says flatly, and Liam wipes tears of mirth from his eyes, calming himself down.

“Niall's not my boyfriend,” Liam tells him, hands pressed over his stomach. “He's... he's my son.”

“He... what...” Louis struggles to process the fact that he's gotten everything so completely _wrong,_ and Liam just sits there, hands clasped over his face, chuckling.

“Niall's my son. He's five, and an absolute terror to sitters,” Liam says, through his huffed laughs. “The only one he'll put up with is me, and sometimes my friend Zayn. He's wildly attached to me, and oh _God,_ you thought he was my boyfriend.” It sends him into another spiral of giggles.

“Where's the mother?” Louis asks stupidly, and when Liam's smile automatically drops Louis wishes he could take it back.

“She's not in the picture,” Liam says tersely, mood changing almost instantly. Louis feels awful when he sees the tight lines around Liam's eyes. He just looks so _tired._ “But I just.” Liam fiddles with the bottom of his jacket. “Is Niall a problem? Because I want you to know... it's both of us or neither of us. We're kind of a package deal.”

Louis feels the smile unravel on his face.

“Well that depends,” he says, arching an eyebrow playfully. 

Liam's shoulders sag down. “On what?”

“Oh whether or not you'll take me on a second date,” Louis says.

Liam smiles then, and it's so bright and brilliant that Louis thinks he might have just died and gone to Heaven. Liam reaches across the table and links his firm, solid hands into Louis's and presses his lips against Louis's in a gentle kiss. It's soft and hot and comforting, and Louis just sits there shocked and thrilled and exhilarated.

Liam finally breaks the kiss, but doesn't let go of Louis's hands.

“Is that a yes?” Louis squeaks, because holy _shit_ that may have been the best kiss he's ever had.

“I'd be stupid to let you go,” Liam replies, and Louis feels the butterflies in his stomach double.

“Am I dreaming?” he asks, because there is _no way_ he's getting this lucky, and Liam laughs.

“You know, the night doesn't have to end here. If you want... we could take our food to go and um, you could meet Niall? And we could go out after I finish tucking him in.”

Louis just nods, stunned into silence by the kiss. They pay the bill, making sure to leave an extra large tip for Cher who just claps gleefully as they leave, hand in hand.

And as Louis leaves walks out, Liam at his side, he feels good. There's a spring in his steps and his heart is light and a truly ridiculously lovesick smile on his face, but it's perfect. He feels like everything and anything is possible.

You know what? He's going to go back to school and become a teacher. He's going to quit working at El Simon. And he's going to make sure to punch Nathan out—even if it is to Taylor Swift.


End file.
